Fabrizio De André, the revered Italian singer/songwriter, created a deep and enduring body of work over the course of his career from the 1960s through the 1990s. With these translations I have tried to render his words into an English that reads naturally without straying too far from the Italian. The translations decipher De André's lyrics without trying to preserve rhyme schemes or to make the resulting English lyric work with the melody of the song.

De André regarded highly the work of Bob Dylan, both for its literary quality and for the many Biblical references found therein. De André considered Dylan part poet and part prophet. This translation was one of the first collaborations between De André and Francesco De Gregori, and it led to the creation of the subsequent album Volume 8.

Bob Dylan text for Desolation Row:

They’re selling postcards of the hanging
They’re painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They’ve got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they’re restless
They need somewhere to go
As Lady and I look out tonight
From Desolation Row

Cinderella, she seems so easy
“It takes one to know one,” she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets
Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he’s moaning
“You Belong to Me I Believe”
And someone says, “You’re in the wrong place my friend
You better leave”
And the only sound that’s left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On Desolation Row

Now the moon is almost hidden
The stars are beginning to hide
The fortune-telling lady
Has even taken all her things inside
All except for Cain and Abel
And the hunchback of Notre Dame
Everybody is making love
Or else expecting rain
And the Good Samaritan, he’s dressing
He’s getting ready for the show
He’s going to the carnival tonight
On Desolation Row

Now Ophelia, she’s ’neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession’s her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah’s great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood
With his memories in a trunk
Passed this way an hour ago
With his friend, a jealous monk
He looked so immaculately frightful
As he bummed a cigarette
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes
And reciting the alphabet
Now you would not think to look at him
But he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin
On Desolation Row

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
Inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients
They’re trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
She’s in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read
“Have Mercy on His Soul”
They all play on pennywhistles
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
From Desolation Row

Across the street they’ve nailed the curtains
They’re getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera
A perfect image of a priest
They’re spoonfeeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then they’ll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words
And the Phantom’s shouting to skinny girls
“Get Outa Here If You Don’t Know
Casanova is just being punished for going
To Desolation Row”

Now at midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row

Praise be to Nero’s Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And everybody’s shouting
“Which Side Are You On?”
And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot
Fighting in the captain’s tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much
About Desolation Row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday
(About the time the doorknob broke)
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they’re quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can’t read too good
Don’t send me no more letters, no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row

The beauty parlor at the back of the alley
is packed with sailors.
Try to ask one what time it is
and he’ll tell you “I never knew it.”
The postcards of the hanging
are for sale, a hundred lira apiece.
The blind commissioner behind the station
reads your misfortune for a clue
and the restless forces of order
search for something that doesn’t work
while my lady and I look out the window tonight
onto Poverty Way.

Cinderella seems so easy,
every time she smiles she catches you,
reminiscent of Bette Davis
with her hands resting against her belt.
Romeo arrives panting
and shouts to her “My love, it’s you.”
But someone tells him to go away
and not to try it again,
and the only sound that remains
when the ambulance goes
is Cinderella sweeping the street
on Poverty Way.

While the dawn is killing the moon
and the stars are almost hidden,
the fortune telling lady
went away in the company of the innkeeper.
Except for Cain and Abel
everyone went to make love,
expecting that the rain might come
to water down the joy and the sorrow.
And the Good Samaritan
is honing his mercy,
he’ll go to the Carnival tonight
on Poverty Way.

The three Wise Men are desperate,
Baby Jesus became old
and Mister Hyde is crying disconcerted
watching Jeckyll who is laughing in the mirror.
Ofelia is behind the window,
no one ever told her that she’s beautiful.
At only twenty two years of age
she’s already an old maid.
Her death will be very romantic,
transforming herself into gold she’ll go away.
For now she walks back and forth
on Poverty Way.

Einstein, dressed as a drunkard,
hid his notes in a trunk.
He passed this way an hour ago
straight towards the final Thule.
He seemed so shy and scared
when he asked to stop a bit here,
but then he started to smoke
and to recite the A B C's,
and to see him you would never say it,
but he was famous some time ago
for playing the electric violin
on Poverty Way.

In preparing for the big party
there’s someone who’s starting to be thirsty
The phantom of the opera
is dressed in the clothes of a priest,
he is force feeding Casanova
to punish him for his sensuality.
He'll kill him, speaking to him of love
after having poisoned him with pity,
and while the phantom shouts
three girls are already stripped naked -
Casanova is about to be raped
on Poverty Way.

And way to go Neptune, joker!
The Titanic is sinking in the dawn.
In the lifeboat the beds are all taken
and the captain shouts, “There still are some.”
And Ezra Pound and Thomas Eliot
are fighting in the captain’s tower.
The calypso players laugh at them
while the sky is becoming distant,
and leaning from their windows to the sea
everyone fishes for mimosas and lilacs
and no one has to be too worried
about Poverty Way.

At midnight on the dot the police
do their usual work
putting handcuffs around the wrists
of the ones who know more than they do.
The prisoners come to be dragged
to an improvised Calvary nearby,
and lance corporal Adolf informed them
that they will all pass from the chimney,
and the wind laughs strongly,
and no one will manage to trick his destiny
on Poverty Way.

Your letter I had just yesterday,
you recount everything you’re doing.
But don’t be ridiculous,
don’t ask me “How are you?”
These people of whom you're speaking
are people like all of us,
it doesn’t seem to me that they’re monsters,
it doesn’t seem to me that they’re heroes.
And don’t send me still your news,
no one will respond to you
if you insist on sending your letters
from Poverty Way.

Canzoni, released in 1974, was a "filler" album, like Volume III, desired by De André's label. The only three previously unreleased songs here are covers of Dylan's "Desolation Row" and of two songs by Georges Brassens. Also included are two covers of Leonard Cohen songs.

De André/De Gregori text, translated, for Desolation Row:

The beauty parlor at the back of the alley
is packed with sailors.
Try to ask one what time it is
and he’ll tell you “I never knew it.”
The postcards of the hanging
are for sale, a hundred lira apiece.
The blind commissioner behind the station
reads your misfortune for a clue
and the restless forces of order
search for something that doesn’t work
while my lady and I look out the window tonight
onto Poverty Way.

Cinderella seems so easy,
every time she smiles she catches you,
reminiscent of Bette Davis
with her hands resting against her belt.
Romeo arrives panting
and shouts to her “My love, it’s you.”
But someone tells him to go away
and not to try it again,
and the only sound that remains
when the ambulance goes
is Cinderella sweeping the street
on Poverty Way.

While the dawn is killing the moon
and the stars are almost hidden,
the fortune telling lady
went away in the company of the innkeeper.
Except for Cain and Abel
everyone went to make love,
expecting that the rain might come
to water down the joy and the sorrow.
And the Good Samaritan
is honing his mercy,
he’ll go to the Carnival tonight
on Poverty Way.

The three Wise Men are desperate,
Baby Jesus became old
and Mister Hyde is crying disconcerted
watching Jeckyll who is laughing in the mirror.
Ofelia is behind the window,
no one ever told her that she’s beautiful.
At only twenty two years of age
she’s already an old maid.
Her death will be very romantic,
transforming herself into gold she’ll go away.
For now she walks back and forth
on Poverty Way.

Einstein, dressed as a drunkard,
hid his notes in a trunk.
He passed this way an hour ago
straight towards the final Thule.
He seemed so shy and scared
when he asked to stop a bit here,
but then he started to smoke
and to recite the A B C's,
and to see him you would never say it,
but he was famous some time ago
for playing the electric violin
on Poverty Way.

In preparing for the big party
there’s someone who’s starting to be thirsty
The phantom of the opera
is dressed in the clothes of a priest,
he is force feeding Casanova
to punish him for his sensuality.
He'll kill him, speaking to him of love
after having poisoned him with pity,
and while the phantom shouts
three girls are already stripped naked -
Casanova is about to be raped
on Poverty Way.

And way to go Neptune, joker!
The Titanic is sinking in the dawn.
In the lifeboat the beds are all taken
and the captain shouts, “There still are some.”
And Ezra Pound and Thomas Eliot
are fighting in the captain’s tower.
The calypso players laugh at them
while the sky is becoming distant,
and leaning from their windows to the sea
everyone fishes for mimosas and lilacs
and no one has to be too worried
about Poverty Way.

At midnight on the dot the police
do their usual work
putting handcuffs around the wrists
of the ones who know more than they do.
The prisoners come to be dragged
to an improvised Calvary nearby,
and lance corporal Adolf informed them
that they will all pass from the chimney,
and the wind laughs strongly,
and no one will manage to trick his destiny
on Poverty Way.

Your letter I had just yesterday,
you recount everything you’re doing.
But don’t be ridiculous,
don’t ask me “How are you?”
These people of whom you're speaking
are people like all of us,
it doesn’t seem to me that they’re monsters,
it doesn’t seem to me that they’re heroes.
And don’t send me still your news,
no one will respond to you
if you insist on sending your letters
from Poverty Way.